Poison Ivy
by Zoser
Summary: Jack has an itch and shares it. SJ complete


It was like a stroll in the park on a nice day and it was definitely about time. It was a sunny day about 85 degrees, not very humid and a light breeze. They could have been hiking through a field in Pennsylvania on a June day but it was PX6 – 409. And like Pennsylvania there was no naquida and no alien artifacts and indeed no aliens, aside from Teal'c of course. So, in a way, this mission was a bust but none of them seemed to mind. They chatted amiably amongst themselves with no sniping. Daniel even managed not to injure himself. The only injury, if you could call it that, was O'Neill getting scratched on a bush retrieving a wrapped of a power bar that Carter dropped and the breeze carried off. Actually O'Neill wasn't feeling up to par but he thought it was the rather iffy salsa and guacamole he had eaten the night before the mission. The salsa wasn't that old and he was kind of sure the green color of the guacamole was solely due to the avocado. He used to have a cast iron stomach, now he guessed that he had to take better care. Was he getting over the proverbial hill? And as he watched Carter's ass as she strode ahead of him, he wondered if she thought that too.

Most everything was routine back at the base and they were given 48 hours leave. O'Neill's scratch, on his right fore arm, extending up over his elbow, barely broke the skin. It was not even bandaged just swabbed with some antiseptic cream. He left the base intent on hitting the stores to restock his supply of food and beer, having a decent meal and getting a good nights sleep. He felt some what uncomfortable in the supermarket like his clothes were coarse and itchy, or he had sat too close to a mangy dog and picked up some fleas. When he got back home he barely put the ice cream in the freezer and the beer in the fridge before he shucked his clothes and jumped in the shower. His company arrived while he was dressing, nothing fancy just a t-shirt and old comfortable jeans. 

Carter let herself in and stowed the rest of the groceries. She was bent over deep in the refrigerator feeling around for a cold beer when O'Neill snuck in and gave her a goose causing her to hit her head on the top shelf.

"Son of a bitch" she muttered swinging around rubbing her head with one hand and wielding the cold beer with the other.

"Hey, that the only cold one."

She popped off the top and downed half of it just to be perverse. He decided playing Colonel and Major would not work in this case but wrestling her for the rest of the cold beer might. And even if he lost it would still be fun.  
They enjoyed a most pleasant evening, a nice meal, cold beer, a good movie they hadn't seen before and early to bed. The only strange thing Carter noticed was that scratching O'Neill's back seemed to be his new favorite form of foreplay.

"Fleas?" Carter queried

"I am beginning to think so. Look Sam, as much as I've been looking forward to tonight, I think I've got something and I don't want to give it to you. Maybe we should call it a night."

Reluctantly Sam headed home leaving Jack rubbing his upper arm against the door post.

Jack woke around 3 with his arm so itchy that he thought it was on fire. It was damp too. He had scratched it raw in his sleep. He thought about smearing it with cortisone cream but since the skin was broken, he just washed it off, wrapped it in gauze and contemplated putting on mittens. 

In the morning there was a row of blister like pustules down his arm where the scratch had been and red dots blooming on his back. He probably would have noticed this if he hadn't been so dizzy and nauseous. He grabbed the phone and tried to call Daniel – no answer. He hated to bother Carter especially since it was the old feeble O'Neill seek help rather than the virile O'Neill solving all her problems and satisfying all her needs. He felt awful – he dialed Carter.

Carter was having a wonderful dream when the phone interrupted.  
"Hello."

All she heard was heavy breathing and could it be … some one loosing their breakfast. What kind of obscene phone call was this? She pried her eyes open enough to look at the caller ID. O'Neill?  
"Jack? Sir?"

"Carter … need … bleech… to get….aauch….infirmary"

"I'll be right there"

Diving into jeans and a shirt Carter was out of her house in record time and at O'Neill's as she called the infirmary to warn them of incoming. O'Neill was sitting on his front steps looking pale green with angry red spots in interesting patterns. She helped him to the passenger's seat and hauled ass off to the base. All she could think was what if I get spots like that in some areas that usually don't see the light of day. She looked at his hands which were either clenched in pain or clawing at his torso. And no, not a spot on them, thank god. "STOP. Stop the car."

He had the door open before she came to a halt and was on his knees on the grassy verge bringing up what seemed like his lower GI tract. Sam gave him a bottle of water that was rolling around the back seat and an old fast food napkin. The combination of the warm water and napkin reeking of old French fries set him off on a second bout. Sam was having second thoughts about helping him back into her car but she found a plastic grocery bag. She handed it to the trembling, sweating man and took off for the base.

The lurching careening car ride did the poor man in. Luckily they were met with a gurney which O'Neill gratefully fell on to. Unfortunately this only caused the nausea to return with vengeance. He sat up perhaps a little too quickly to reduce the nausea but this caused vertigo that nearly pitched him off the stretcher. Carter, while truly concerned, was starting to feel itchy and although she was sure it was only psychosomatic, she ran off to shower. "Doc, doc what the hell is it? Small pox, anthrax?"

"No, Colonel, it seems to be something like our poison ivy."

"I feel like my skin is on fire."

"There's not much we can do right now, Colonel. Until we are certain what's the right course of treatment the usual medications might exacerbate the problem."

"And that means…"

"Quarantine, of course and restraints if you don't stop scratching or oven mitts and duct tape."

"You're laughing. This isn't funny. That's unprofessional"

Janet had to leave the room as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Jack continued to "bloom" for the next two weeks but progressively the rash was less angry and definitely less itchy. However, as Colonel O'Neill's rash faded an interesting pattern was beginning to develop on Major Carter's back and inner thigh.

She was frantic. What could she blame it on – naked gardening, new detergent? No that was absurd. Everyone knew about O'Neill's rash; he did not suffer quietly. 


End file.
